posted
You know I think I've read letters similar to Frisco's somewhere before. Now what magazine was that?
Posts: 4625 | Registered: Jul 2002
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posted
i want a pirate story! i want to be a daughter of a captain in the royal navy who is taken hostage by the swarthy pirate prince but unwittingly falls in love with her captor!
Posts: 3936 | Registered: Jul 2000
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Becky crumpled to the ground and felt the agony of being totally alone in her soul. A whicker from behind reminded her she wasn’t physically alone. Cherokee pushed his head against her, and she patted him, smiling through her tears.
“You’re a good horse, Cherokee, “ she said affectionately. The plains stretched out in front of her for miles, as far as she could see. She was free to go wherever she wished, except for the one place her heart longed to go.
The wind picked up her hair, and whipped it around her face, drying her tears and reminding her that the world had not stopped simply because her heart was broken. She rose, and gave Cherokee a quick inspection to make certain there were no stones lodged in his hoofs or anything else that would hinder their progress. “I guess it’s time to go, boy,” she sighed reluctantly.
Springing onto his back with the ease that came from years of practice, she nudged him toward the desolate plains ahead. Whatever future awaited her, she would have to find it out there. Away from the ranch. And away from Ken.
The sound of thundering hoofbeats from behind made Becky whirl. Her eyes widened as the image came charging down on her. It couldn’t be! But there was no mistaking what she saw.
Only one horse existed with the power and beauty of the black stallion bearing down on her position. Only one with that exquisite sheen on his coat, with that head held high in the breeze. It was Rapier, and there was only one man who could tame and ride him.
In moments he was there, swinging off Rapier’s back and rushing to her side. She threw herself off Cherokee’s back and into his arms. Was it real? Was she imagining this embrace? How could they be here in this moment, together?
“Ken! What are you doing here?” she cried.
“What I want to do, what I’ve been longing to do since the moment I first saw you. Hold you, kiss you, tell you that you’re mine. For you are mine, Becky. Mine forever. I won’t let anything stand in the way of our love for each other.”
“But your father,” she protested, “your marriage to Elsa! Today’s your wedding day!”
“My father be damned, and Elsa too. He can give her the ranch too I don’t want it. I don’t anything but you. Today is my wedding day, but I’ll have no bride but you, Becky.”
Then he was on his knees before her, holding out a ring. Not the one he proffered Elsa, but his grandmother’s silver ring. Elsa had turned her nose up at it, but Becky had always loved it’s elegance and the love it represented.
“Becky, under this sky, with God and our horses as witnesses, will you marry me?” he asked as the ring slid onto her finger. It was a perfect fit, and it already felt as if she’d worn it all her life.
Without waiting for her answer, Ken bent down to claim her mouth, and they kissed as the wind stirred around them, warmly caressing them as if God had indeed acknowledged and blessed their new union. Becky could feel her heart thumping in time with Ken’s, as she just melted into the kiss, their bodies pressing against each other with the urgency of passion, coupled with the tenderness of undying love.
They broke, long enough for her to whisper “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes…
Laying on the divan, languidly soaking up the spring's rare sunshine, Pearce closed her eyes and let her mind wander to where her eyes had just been. She had just asked the labourer's name a few days ago, Peter, and in the days since she hadn't allowed him to be out of her sight.
Oh, she knew she shouldn't follow him around the house and gardens, making up excuses and reasons to be in whatever part of the grounds he was at that moment, but she could not help herself. And it was in the gardens that the view was most rewarding. His chemise clung to his body as he shoveled the dirt to make room for a starter tree. Sweat ran down the engorged muslces of his arms, shoulders and back as he worked away while she comfortably watched. Another woman might have been put off by his bald pate, but it only added to Peter's malehood, if Pearce's opinion meant anything. And she hoped it did. She hoped it meant everthing...
She was not inexperienced. She had been married before, sold for money by her titled but poverty-stricken parents, to an old despot who had the good grace to die less than a year after their vows. Though her experience had been torturous, she knew by instinct that was not always the way of it. Mary, her maid, had explained the way of it before. And she wanted so much for Peter to show her the way...
She rose from her divan with the sleekness of a cat. Meandering her way around the rose bushes, the fountains and the statues, she finally found herself but a few feet from Peter.
"You're doing nice work here," she said, unsure of how to make him notice her as he never seemed to look in her direction.
But he did notice her. He noticed her all the time. He noticed her when she was laying languidly, he noticed her when she walked towards him. He noticed her as she all but seemed to follow him no matter where he went. He noticed all of her...
"My lady, you cannot keep following me like this," he burst out, surprised at his own frustration. The frustration she had caused him to feel, both mentally and in other ways he did not want to think about.
The outburst surprised her, too. But she could not stop herself, she could not prevent herself from staying and wanting to talk to him, to have him show her how it could be...
"I cannot leave, Peter. I cannot go without you. I cannot..." she trailed off. She struggled with a moment with herself, her position, her duties and responsibility. Her better judgement. And then desire won out, like clouds forming over the earth, heavy with rain and unable to stop their torrential downpour.
Pearce grabbed his soil-worked hand and, without a word, led him to the enclosed gazebo. She pushed in him, knowing all too well that his very size prevented him from doing anything he didn't want to do.
"I knew it. I knew it," she said, refering to his desire of her. "I knew you'd come with me."
His eyes showed the same self-doubt and inner struggle that she had felt only moments before. "God love me, but I cannot deny it. Pearce, I must... I must have you NOW," he barely managed to get out while he pulled her to him.
The room inside the gazebo was hot and sticky and sensual beyond their wildest dreams.
She backed up and, wanting to make this last forever, slowly began unlacing her velvet corset.
His eyes set on fire as he watched it inch off and slip down her perfect body...
quote:“My father be damned, and Elsa too. He can give her the ranch too I don’t want it. I don’t anything but you. Today is my wedding day, but I’ll have no bride but you, Becky.”
AHHH! That's awesome!
I'm doing the bodice-rippers, Belle. You're not being as naughty as I am.
posted
I was just thinking, actually, that the differences in style here are really pretty enlightening. Posts: 37449 | Registered: May 1999
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Antonia stood as tall as her spare five foot frame could afford her and lifted her chin defiantly. "You are naught but foolish boys, and I'll have none of either of you," she said, spitting each word out with disdain. As a final punctuation on her rejection of the two suitors, she twirled in place, the golden velvet of her skirts flaring prettily from her hips, and stalked out of the room with a firm click-click of her booted heels.
The two men postured aggressively against each other. It was difficult to tell which was the brawnier of the two. One's jet black hair was smoothed back into a neat ponytail. The other's blond hair made an untidy nest around his face, roguishly completed with a tidy goatee. They both sported ice blue eyes.
The dark one spoke first. "Bien, perro, usted ahora lo ha hecho. Si usted hablara una lengua civilizada por lo menos ella todavía estaría hablando nosotros dos. "
The blond curled his lip and replied with a stecado that showed every one of his straight, pearly teeth. "Civilized! Cão! Como pode você dizer tais coisas? Se sua língua fosse um trifle civilized mais menos do que é afortunada ser, eu não poderia compreender seu drivel sem sentido.
"Garde do En! Extraia que o toothpick você chama uma espada e nos deixa duelar para seu favor. "
And with this, the two swordsmen drew, pacing each other on the slate floor....
***
Hours later, Antonia dropped her embroidery into her lap with an exasperated sigh. With eyes flashing, she addressed her nurse, Deirdre.
"Are they both dead yet?" Her breasts mounded up over her corseted bodice as she breathed heavily in anticipation of the answer.
"Not yet, but they're bleeding copiously on the floor. I'm so glad we took the carpets out this time. I do wish you would just send them away instead of this...this...wastefulness. I'm sure some other girl would have fancied them."
"Call it a service to womankind, dear Nurse."
***
Deckter carried the wood to milady's chamber with practiced precision. He had done it a thousand times before, loading the fireplace, each time anticipating a glimpse of her slender ankles, the gentle curve of her wrists, and the haughty angle of her chin. Once he'd been treated to the waves of her dark brown hair, highlighted in the sun streaming through her window as she dried it after her bath. It cascaded down from her shoulders and pooled on the floor as she sat languidly combing it. Such a sight no man had seen save him, yet any number of genteel fools had died trying for the privilege. Someday... someday....
No! Not someday, he thought to himself. Today! Now!
This time as Deckter strode confidently into her chamber, milady was startled by the way he met her eyes and held them. He broke the gaze only to drop the wood and brush the bark and wood dust from his glistening arms. When he straightened, Antonia's chin was again at her accustomed angle.
"No, Lady. You will hear me. You are mine and there will be no more dueling nonsense." His voice was firm, deep and rich. She'd never heard him speak before. Truly, she'd never noticed him before. He was as invisible as all the other servants. Until today...
Yet, his haughty manner! How dare he! She stood to sweep her hand against his brazen countenance.
He caught her blow before it landed, and used the grip on her wrist to pull her tight against him. The smell of his manly sweat mingled with the more delicate fragrance of rosewater dabbed on her breast.
At last, a true man...one who knew that her bravado was all a sham. She melted into his kiss in one final surrender...
posted
These are fantastic (this from someone who never read a romance novel -- unless you include A Woman of Destiny). I'd be curious to see myself in one, but knowing the various senses of humor of Hatrackers, I'd probably be the only character....
posted
“Ophelia, you will be mine, no matter the outcome of this duel! Do you think this lad can protect you?” Roth sneered at her. She gathered all her strength and resolve and stood up to him. “I will never be yours! Not for anything! I will take a dagger to my own heart before I ever let myself belong to you!”
“We shall see about that!” Roth snapped. Then he bowed, and saluted her. Ophelia turned her back, not refusing to give him her favor.
How did it come to this? How could she be here, in this situation? Betrothed to the man she loathed more than anything in the world, and her only protector, her only hope a young man she had only just met?
And yet, and yet…his eyes, so full of compassion as she sobbed out her story. His insistence that he would protect her. Did she really just meet him? Because if felt as if she’d known him all her life. She felt safe with him.
What ever had led her to trust this mysterious dark stranger? Fate had brought them together, when she ran blindly from Roth the night before, he had caught her, stopping her from flinging herself off the cliffs to her death. Death would be preferable to a lifetime chained to Roth. Only when he grabbed her wrists and said “Don’t be a fool!” did she begin to feel a little hope.
But now, she could feel that hope receding. Roth was a master swordsman, how could this stranger stand against him? He did not even possess a sword, Roth had been forced to procure him one so the duel could be fought fairly! Who was he, that he would foolishly throw his life away for a woman he didn’t know?
Roth advanced toward the stranger, an evil smirk on his face. No doubt he intended to prolong it, to make a sport of it, and force the young man to suffer before he ended it.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let him die for her. It wasn’t worth it.
“Roth! Roth! Stop this. I will marry you, don’t kill this man!” she cried. Her heart closed up in agony, but there was no escaping it. Better to live her life chained to this evil man than allow this dark stranger to die for her sake.
Roth merely laughed, and continued his advance toward the man. He was going to kill him anyway! To spite her!
What happened next was almost too quick to process. With a few startling moves the stranger leapt forward, parrying every stroke of Roth’s and advancing ground, driving Roth backwards in a defensive posture. Suddenly it was over. Roth lay crumpled to the ground, a dark stain spreading underneath him.
The stranger sheathed his borrowed sword and walked toward her. “Valiant of you, Milady. Valiant, though unnecessary. He shall trouble you no more.”
“I owe you my life,” she said breathily.
“I don’t wish for that sort of payment, Milady. Keep your life, grant me but a kiss.”
With that he pulled her to him, crushing her mouth beneath his. Ophelia couldn’t pull away, she felt her heart pound in his embrace, as the ice around her heart melted and she became bathed in the warmth of passion. A kiss was all he asked, but she knew the real payment he had received was her heart and soul.
The only thing Michael knew for certain was that he needed Connie in his arms. She was his entire life from the first moment he laid eyes on her. She would remain his whole life forever.
But she was gone. Fate had dealt them a cruel hand, and Michael had naught but to play it out. Connie was gone. Gone. Gone forever like some phantasm that had been with him for but a moment, only to disappear into the clouds and vanish forever. How could he live without her? How could deal with the thought that she was gone, fallen into the cracks of the chasm beyond the manor grounds? The last moments of their love were still fresh upon his mind. The last moments of his inability to keep a hold of her hand as she slipped from his grasp into the darkness below.
He hurled the crystal glass full of wine against the cold, hard stone wall. It shattered in a million pieces, signifying his broken heart. The red fluid ran down from the stone and filled the cracks on the floor, signifying his tortured and aimless soul.
"Connie... CONNIE!" he screamed into the indifferent night. If only he could touch her one more time. If only he could taste her sweet lips. If only...
The door to his room slowly swung open, and a figure moved into the firelight.
"Connie?" he asked with surprise and an insane, hopeful lust.
"Michael, I'm home."
But Michael couldn't trust himself. Could his great sadness have finally turned to insanity? He shook his head and then took a step towards her...
[This message has been edited by Ralphie (edited February 25, 2003).]
posted
Is this what romance novels are really like? That was cool, Ralphie. Does it have a happy ending?
Posts: 6213 | Registered: May 2001
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Katelyn opened the door just a crack. One of her dark eyes peered out into the corridor.
"Katelyn…" Jerome began, and heard her quick intake of breath. "Your name is Katelyn," he whispered. He bit his lip and glanced down the corridor. Then he placed his right hand softly on the door and leaned inward.
"But…no…you can’t…"
"Quickly. Before they see me." His strength was gentle but firm, and at last Katelyn’s resistance melted.
Her room was dark, and as he closed the door he inhaled the scent of rose tea. He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes.
"Why have you come here?" she breathed.
He opened his eyes slowly, letting in the vision of her before him. Katelyn! Her dark hair turned to rich mahogany as it caught the glow of the sun behind the drawn curtains; her deep brown eyes, wide now in fear; her small, haunting form wrapped in a soft black shawl. Had it been…how many years since he had last beheld her? A bed in a room with white walls. After a journey through an endless, throbbing blackness he had finally opened his eyes….
His hands trembled; his mouth could not form the words he longed to say. "Tea," he mumbled instead. "You’re…making tea."
She turned her head slightly toward the hot plate set on her nightstand. Then she returned her gaze to him, her lips parting a little.
"May I…taste? It’s been so long."
For a moment that lasted an eternity, she stared at him. Then she turned and stepped softly to the cupboard where she kept a few of her possessions. From it she extracted two cups made of china, chipped about the rim. She faced him again.
"Please…sit." There was a single wooden chair against the wall, and she placed her small hand upon it.
He walked slowly across the room toward her. She watched him come, glancing into his eyes and letting her gaze travel around his face. She did not move as he reached the chair; only when he began to sit and let forth an involuntary hiss of pain did she let her hand come to her mouth.
"Oh! The bullet! The wound has not healed!"
"No!" Jerome held his side with his hand. "No," he said, softly but intensely. "It has never given me trouble." He staggered a bit as he straightened, and she put out her hands to steady him. He caught his footing and paused, and his sharp breath stirred her hair. He felt his heart thudding through the pressure of her hands on his chest.
Then his own hands were holding her, and his mouth was seeking hers, and she shivered as their lips met.
[This message has been edited by advice for robots (edited February 25, 2003).]
The chains that bound Kathryn to the stone wall were merciless. Her wrists chaffed and bleeding, she tried to work her hands free using the slickness of the thick, red liquid that drained from her veins. If she could just get her hands free. If she could just work it a little more...
It was at the moment of her near triumph that "Slash" walked in. Though a man not painted by evil on the outside, his heart ran foul and loathesome and his Machiavellian nature pierced all from his cauliflower blue eyes.
"Almost freed yourself, my little bird?" he asked, using a twisted grin to convey his contempt and desire. "You will not leave this cell, not until you agree to do my bidding."
"Die!" Kathryn spat at him, her eyes almost wild with loathing. "I will not take your evil upon me this day, or tomorrow, or ever!"
"Oh, I think you will," Slash countered. "You see these?" he asked, pointing to the slashing scars across his cheeks which both scarred and named him. "I did not come across these without a fight. I always win, even if it hurts." Then he came closer, leaving no air between them. "In fact, I like it better when it hurts."
Then he turned away and walked to the cell door. "You will be here until you agree to my demands. You will be fed, but not well and you will continue to use a clay vessel to piss in. You will not be given a mattress for sleeping, nor a blanket."
Then he turned back to stab her with his eyes. "You will come to me." With that, he left.
Kathryn let her body collapse within the cell walls. She could only think of Michael, her Michael. Would he not come? Were all his promises but pretty words? She could not believe it. She held onto his promises as if she was gripping them in her delicate hands. Like a rope off a cavern, like your last piece of food in a famine, like the words of hope from your only true love...
As Kathryn let herself be taken over by thoughts of hope, she heard the piercing scream of a guard come from atop the basement's steps. Then another, and another. Could this be Michael and his men? Could this be the hope she was silently praying for?
She heard the sounds of heavy feet run down those steps, but it was not Michael. It was Slash, and he had a look of hatred, fury and panic in his eyes. "He will not take you!" he screamed and, after opening the cell door, grabbed her. He forced her past the cells leading to the hidden exit, and pushed her ahead of him.
But Michael had already anticipated this. He was there to meet them as they exited, and he had an arrow cocked and ready to meet Slash's blackened heart.
"Recover from this, you slimy piece of sheep dung!" he yelled as he let the arrow fly.
It met Slash's heart dead center, and the tip could be seen pushing the fabric of his chemise from the back. A single drop of blood ran from his surprised mouth, and he slumped without being able to say a word.
Slash's evil was over.
Michael grabbed Kathryn and held her close to him. "Now, to see about you," he said, with a glint in his eye.
Kathryn could but think, My hope was not in vain, nor shall it be ever...
[This message has been edited by Ralphie (edited February 26, 2003).]
posted
Christi writhed with uneasiness as she spied her hero striding across the deep, lush grass of the park. No, he could never love her! She bit her lower lip with self doubt. Every day, she came here to eat her lunch. Every day, she watched him eat his, always alone, always on the same park bench. She dared not approach him, for though he was alone, he was wrapped in an almost visible cocoon of concentration. She could not guess what he was so intent upon. Yet, as she watched him day after day, her heart swelled inside her, imagining what greatness lay beneath his deep and generous chest. She tried not to let her imagination run too wild, but she could only believe that he was goodness all through. If only she could gain his attention. If only she could show him how desperately she loved him. If only she knew his name...
***
Tom sat in the park deliberately avoiding the appearance of staring at the sweet maid sitting in the grass eating her sandwich. Her skirts pooled around her as she leaned back against the rough bark of the old oak that anchored the small park. He had come initially to the park to people-watch, one of his most favorite occupations. But as the gentle summer skies had ripened this temperate season, week after week, he began to notice her. That sweet face, so good, so innocent. Yes, he could admit it -- she was cute. He hated the word as it was so overused, but it was only the truth. From the slender fingers that held the sandwich to her delicate little toes in the verdant blades of grass, to the heart shape of her face, she was the personification of cute. He would never use the word for any other purpose again, save to describe this dear creature.
***
As the summer waned and the green growth of the park prepared for its long winter slumber, both lovers despaired that they should ever meet, never knowing that the one secretly longed for the other.
***
"Christi, I'd like you to meet my friend Tom. He's a great guy and I think you two would really like each other." Christi's best friend was forever setting her up on blind dates, and they were always disasters.
The two friends were meeting for lunch at the deli down the street instead of at the park, as the weather had turned too chill for such outings now. Her friend held the door for her as she entered. "Hey, Chris, I got us a table in the back. Tom is meeting us here. Hope you don't mind."
Mind? Mind?! Christi groaned inwardly and steeled herself for the trial. It's only an hour. I can take an hour of one of these silly match-ups, she thought to herself. Then, I'll kill her later.
She smoothed her skirt and strode toward the back of the deli where the best seating was. The smells of fresh baked bread, bubbling soup and spicy meat hung heavy in the air. She turned the corner to the reserved booth, and there he was. Him. From the park.
"Oh!" she squeaked quietly. "It's you!"
He stood and held his hand out to her. "It's you." His gentle voice was everything she imagined it to be.
She slid her slender fingers into his hand and met his eyes shyly. Yes, he was everything she imagined him to be...
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Is it also Sara?
